The Guardian, an Angel, and A Prius: A Tale of Going the Distance
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Tag to Episode 9:13. Brotherhood AU. Dean Winchester has his hands full with an uppity Prius, a more than helpful angel, and a much needed brotherly heart to heart with Sam, who isn't actually his brother.


The Guardian, An Angel, and a Prius: A Tale of Going the Distance

By: Ridley James

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Tidia and I decided that the most recent Supernatural episode 9:13 demanded some kind of tag. That's not exactly easy considering we wanted it in The Brotherhood AU and most of you who know our universe understand we parted ways with the show after Season 5. Never underestimate the determination of a writer scorned, or in this case two writers completely blown away by careless show runners who have apparently set out to destroy the Winchester brothers. Please excuse any liberality we took. There are only slight spoiler warnings, as only a small conversation from this episode is touched upon.

Author's Warning: I know some readers are very sensitive to certain topics. Please note this story may contain what some would consider 'Prius' bashing. I know there may be readers out there that LOVE Prius, and I totally respect your opinion and hope you go into this story with full understanding that this author is more of a Chevy girl. ;-)

_RCJ_

"_A brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city; and their contentions are like the bars of a castle." –Proverbs 18:19 The Bible_

Dean Winchester's father was never the sentimental type; at least not after Dean's mother was murdered. Maybe he'd never particularly been that way. Dean was only five when she died and sometimes, especially now that he was older, he questioned the rosy memories he often conjured of John Winchester. Fate and a demon's deranged plans for world domination transformed his dad over the years, erasing the man, leaving his sons the bull-headed, hard-hearted, driven hunter.

But when it came to cars, Dean's dad was more like the man Dean wanted him to be. He had once told Dean that cars had personalities. Dean took those words to heart. Dean had never looked at a car the same since.

Take their black Chevy Impala for instance. The Impala was strong, willful, and a little rough around the edges. A Winchester through and through. She liked to go fast and tight around the curves, but was built for long distance. Dean was convinced if she could talk; her voice would have been a deep throaty purr like honeyed whiskey. Most importantly, she understood the duty of family. She was as loyal and faithful as the day was long. The little foreign number Dean was currently working on was not.

For all her pearlescent paint and faux leather she had left her owner stranded twice now. Dean suspected a cracked distributor cap or damaged rotor was the culprit. Either way, the car was at this very moment being a bitch about said cap. She was making Dean work for it, unwilling to give it up. Dean imagined the twenty-something that drove her was cut from the same cloth. Easy on the eyes, but way overpriced for the ride she'd give and quick to stall out before the trip was over. But just as Dean didn't doubt he could have won over the pretty blond on a typical day if he'd been of a mind to, maybe even had his way with her on the old couch in the back room of his garage, he was not quite as confident in his capability to win over her freaking car. Of course today wasn't a typical day. It wasn't even _day_ any longer, creeping closer to midnight. Dean was tired.

He was tired of working long endless hours at the shop to build a customer base he needed if he was going to make a real go of the garage. He was tired of hunts that took him away from the farm for days, and left even more work when he returned. Dean was pretty freaking tired of manure on his boots, grease under his nails and blood on his hands. At the moment though, he was especially tired of being The Guardian of an ultra secret organization sworn to protect the innocent from all forms of evil. Turns out The Brotherhood had a surprising amount of political bullshit and mundane CEO-type day in and out decisions. Dean might as well have taken Cullen Ames up on running his family's company all those years ago. It would have been cleaner, and would have paid a whole hell of a lot better.

Dean had never purposively sought the position of go to guy in The Brotherhood, perfectly content to be lowly hunter in the ranks. Hell, he'd not even known he was even in the running until his predecessor was long dead and gone. Pastor Jim Murphy hadn't once let on that he had Dean in mind for the job. The others in their close knit circle who had been in the know were just as tight lipped, even Dean's best friend.

When the truth came out, it took Dean a long time to accept the idea, even longer to acknowledge Jim might have been right. Dean Winchester was born to be The Guardian. Despite accepting his position and being at it for almost year now, he often felt ill prepared, overwhelmed for this destiny that others seemed so sure he was meant to fulfill. Tonight was one of those nights.

"What the hell do they want from me?" He demanded of the little pearl Prius. He was tempted to whack her with the Phillips screwdriver he was wielding for adding to his current misery. The garage was usually a refuge from hunting, a place he could pull on his coveralls and become as anonymous as Clark Kent. Tonight had not worked out that way. The Brotherhood had followed him here, his best friend and brother tugging at his cape in a way that threatened to choke Dean.

"They're grown men and they act like two kids fighting over a fucking action figure."

Dean silently vowed never to have children. He already had his hands full with his Triad. From what he could gather the current battle had started over a botched hunt they'd been called in to clean up. Caleb blamed the hunters involved, one hunter in particular, a Legacy that had come to a ring through birthright. As far as The Knight was concerned, the man had just earned his third strike. Caleb wanted Dean to take his ring, and maybe his head. Sam, on the other hand, was offering another perspective, one that warranted less maiming and much more diplomacy. The Scholar seemed to believe faulty intelligence had been the culprit, no surprise there since Dean's brother had been pushing for a more intricate network of information gatherers. Sam wanted Dean to let him investigate further before making a decision.

Dean didn't give a shit why the hunt had gone south only that two men were dead. Men he was ultimately responsible for, men who had families he would have to answer to. Dean was the one who would be held accountable. Then there were the handful of innocents who had been killed by the wendigo, the monster at the heart of this whole mess who had escaped leaving untold future victims. Inevitably, Dean would also feel responsible for their lives and deaths as well.

"When did everything get so damn complicated?" Dean huffed as he continued to wrestle with the Prius, finally prying one of the warped pins holding the distributor cap in place loose. Dean would have to warn the blond about letting amateurs toy around under her hood. "Sometimes I wish it were just simple, me and my brother on the road in The Impala, saving people, going about family business."

"You don't mean that."

The unexpected voice coincided with the distributor cap popping free. Dean startled, rearing back and banging his head on the hood. "Damn it, Cas! How many times do I have to tell you…"

"There are no wards here." Castiel's tone held no hint of apology, but one of reproach. "It was easy for me to find you."

Dean put the cap on the edge of the car and glared at Castiel. He touched the back of his scalp, already feeling a slight goose egg. Dean hadn't seen the angel in a couple of months, and was instantly suspicious considering their last encounter had Dean chasing down mythical spears and visiting Merlin's court to secure Excalibur. "If you tell me you have something that demands The Guardian's attention I won't be responsible for my actions, which may or may not involve me beating you to death with a wrench."

"I'm not here to ask for your help." Castiel stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, feigning innocence in a way that Caleb could pull off, but that just looked wrong on the angel. "I was in the neighborhood."

"Right." Dean snorted. He took out the grease rag dangling from the pocket of his coveralls and wiped his hands. "New Haven isn't exactly a hotbed of heavenly activity these days, hence my lax on the salt lines and strange tagging I don't want to explain to my customers. I take it all is right in your neck of the woods if you have spare time on your wings to worry about me, a mere mortal."

"You're not just any human, Dean."

Dean laughed. "So everyone keeps reminding me."

"Things are once more as they should be at home, thanks to your help, your Triad's help."

"That's good to know, Cas." Dean meant it. He might not have always been the most spiritual person, but he believed in a greater good, needed to believe what Pastor Jim preached all those years was at least close to the truth. He could handle earth being so fucked up as long Heaven had its act together. "But as you can see, I'm kind of busy…" "

"I feel your distress." Castiel continued looking at Dean with his serious face.

"Do you now? And you came running, or flying, whatever it is you angels do to help me work on a distributor cap?" Dean was a little surprised, and worried that his foul mood had travelled across ethereal connections and warranted a visit from his self proclaimed protector.

"I have no idea what a distributor cap is, but I want to help."

Dean held up the busted part from the Prius. He figured Castiel was in the mind to make up for some of the things that transpired during their last gig together, but Dean really didn't have it in him to let the angel make a mends, especially when everything was forgiven, mostly. "This is the only thing I have a need for, so unless you have one stashed under that trench coat..."

"Human machinery is not my expertise, but I do happen to know a thing or two about wounded spirits."

"Okay." Dean put the cap back down, searching for the beer he'd set down earlier. It was painfully obvious he wasn't going to be able to give Castiel the brush-off. Dean would add 'friend to pushy angel' to his list of obligations.

"You are having a crisis of faith."

"Is that what they call it?" Dean nearly spit out the gulp of warm beer. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "I just thought I was fed up with my lot in life."

"Sometimes it is hard for humans to see how blessed they are." Castiel's frown deepened. "Being grateful is a purposeful action."

"I think you're confusing blessed with burdened, Dude." Dean took another long drink, hoping he might dull the ache in his head and the suspicious clench to his chest that Cas's words brought. "You really don't want me to start counting and comparing the two."

"I understand a great deal has been demanded from you. I've seen what your choices have brought to your life, both bad and good."

"My choices?" Dean couldn't quite keep the bitterness from his voice. Tonight was not the night to talk to him about free will, not when he was stewing about all the things he did not choose, his mother's death, his father's decision to trail her killer and seek revenge at all costs, aligning himself with The Brotherhood to make that happen, therefore setting Dean's destiny in motion. "I think you've got me confused with someone else."

"Each choice we make leads us down a very specific path; take your father for instance. John Winchester could have chosen to lead a very different life, one with more solitude."

Dean eyed the angel, wondering if his friend was pilfering through his mind. He was surrounded by people who could chose to read his most private thoughts and it was enough to make a guy paranoid. "Tell me about it."

"You believe if he had done things differently, you might not be as you said 'down on your lot in life'?"

Dean finished off the beer with a deep sigh. He'd often wondered at the different life he and Sam might have had if John Winchester had indeed chosen another path. But speculation of that sort was as about as useful as a raincoat on a duck. "It's not like I'll ever know for sure, right?"

"I could show you." Castiel stepped forward, lifting his hand before Dean had a chance to reply.

The Guardian felt the touch of Cas's fingers on his forehead, the ripple of energy that echoed through the silver band on his hand. The beer bottle slipped from his grip, even as the room around him gave way to nothingness.

RCJ

"What the hell was that?" Dean kept his head in his hand, elbows propped on the table before him. He and Castiel were in a seedy little bar, the second stop on the angel's impromptu field trip. The first had been to a bunker, a secret hideout of a group called The Men of Letters. Castiel had given Dean the quick rundown as they entered the fortress. Walking right through steel doors seemed nothing compared to accepting Castiel's explanation that he and Dean were in an alternate reality. That what they were viewing was a private, and painful, conversation between another Dean and Sam Winchester.

"I explained to you that you were watching a different version of yourself and Sam, one created when John Winchester chose not to align himself so closely with James Murphy and The Brotherhood, that…"

Dean lifted his head and held up one hand to preempt another voice over from Castiel. "I get it. This is like the time you took me to that possible future, the one where you were way mellower and into lots of chicks, and when you showed Caleb what would happened if that whole deal with The Spear of Destiny went down a different way."

"Yes." Castiel tilted his head. "Are you alright?"

Dean looked past the angel to the bar where his 'other' self sat drowning his sorrows in a beer and several shots of whiskey. He didn't blame the guy; in fact, he was tempted to join him. "I'm a whole hell of a lot better than that Dean."

"So you see my point?"

"Your point?" Dean demanded, not bothering to keep his voice down as the lack of waitress attending to them told him they were most likely still invisible. "Was your point to show me some demon-possessed version of my little brother?"

"Sam is not currently possessed in this reality." Castiel frowned. "Although as I explained he was recently possessed by an angel and spent some time without a soul after choosing to become Lucifer's vessel and went to Hell…"

"Enough with the history lesson." Dean once again cut off his friend. He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes straying to the other Dean's back. If the Sam he witnessed had a soul, he could not imagine spending time with him when he was without one. "I get it. It was really Sam, only _this_ universe's version of Sam. He's different here."

"Just as you are different here." Castiel glanced to the bar where the other Dean sat, downing another shot. He sure looked broken, even if he claimed otherwise. "Your experiences have not been the same. Major events, yes, but John Winchester was never The Knight of The Brotherhood here. You aren't the same brothers."

"But we're brothers just the same!" Damn it, that was the only point Dean wanted to get across. "We are still brothers. I mean _they _are. They're still brothers. Nothing can change that."

"Perhaps someone should explain that to Sam."

"That's a great idea, Cas." Dean tapped the table, sure of his mission now. "In fact, I think it should be me."

Castiel's frown deepened and Dean recognized the flash of concern. "I brought you here so you might have more clarity on _your_ current situation, not to …"

"You want me to feel better-part of your whole being a better Guardian Angel routine-right?" Dean was not above using a little guilt if it served his purpose.

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

"Then let me do this." Dean looked down at the way he was dressed, still in grease stained coveralls. "Make me more than smoke and mirrors, and give me a little makeover here."

Castiel still looked unsure, his eyes travelling to the bar once more. "But if this Sam discovers your ruse or this Dean…"

"Sam will never have a reason to doubt who I am, and you can keep five o'clock shadow Dean company." Dean lifted a brow. "Is there a version of you in this time?"

"Of course."

"Are you and _this_ Dean still friends?"

"As you said, some things are constant no matter the universe." Castiel pulled the lapel of his trench coat straighter. "And here I do not have Caleb to contend with."

Dean looked down at his ring, not quite able to imagine a life without his best friend, even if moments earlier he had contemplated one where his father would not have had need for a protégé and part time nanny. "Damien would have never let me and Sam get to this point."

"Perhaps we should just go back." Castiel was wavering, and Dean knew he had to act quickly to convince his friend. "This may have not been the best idea. You talking to this Sam is not going to change anything."

"Still, I have to try." Dean didn't quite understand it himself. Castiel was right about one thing. This wasn't _his_ Sam, he wasn't that Dean sitting at the bar, but as the angel was trying to show him, he could have been. He felt he had to at least try and set things straight, unwilling to see his and Sam's relationship torn down, if even in another universe. "Let's just say it's a brother thing."

With a nod of his head Cas not only conceded, but granted Dean his corporeal form, a change of clothes and some extra facial hair. Dean found himself in the bunker once more, and had to admit he was a little envious. The place was awesome, like The Tomb on a much grander scale, Batman's cave. Dean would ask Cas if the Men of Letters was around in their universe, just waiting for his Triad to discover it. Maybe he'd have Carolyn do some research into his paternal grandfather, however he had to concentrate on one mission at a time.

He and Cas had stuck with 'other' Dean after watching the brothers heart to heart, following him to the bar after Sam walked out so Dean had to check a few rooms before he found one with the light shining under the door. He didn't bother to knock, bounding in to find Sam reclined on his bed, reading a book.

"What the hell, Dean…"

"I'm sorry." Dean left the door standing wide. "Co-workers not allowed in private quarters, Bro?"

Sam put the book down, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He had the same indignant look on his face that Dean's Sam got when he was about to launch into Scholar mode. Apparently they both did self righteous and stubborn about the same. "Don't start this again. I told you what my conditions were and you agreed."

"You didn't really give me any choice, did you, Sammy?" Dean and his brother had gone their fair share of rounds, hurt each other in ways they never should have, but his Sam was never unfeeling, never cold. Prideful at times, yes, bull-headed and single-minded, most definitely. He was John Winchester's son after all.

"We could have gone our separate ways. There was always a choice."

"Actually, that's looking like the better option at this point." Dean eyed the room, noting its neatness, the piles of books orderly stacked and arranged. It looked like Sam's room at Caleb's place, minus the bits of personality that had crept in over the last year. The items that marked Dean's Sam were missing here, no poster from NYU on the wall, no Rangers hoodie tossed at the bottom of the bed, or framed pictures of their father, Mac, and Jim, and the one of their own Triad from Joshua's wedding. He tried to remember that this Sam had not had the same opportunities, the chance to be The Scholar.

"That's up to you." Sam stood, folding his arms over his chest. "Have you changed your mind?"

"What the hell happened to you? You don't abandon family on the side of the road. You're not a fucking Prius." Dean moved into his brother's space, grace disappearing under Sam's cool demeanor, the indifferent way he asked if Dean was leaving, almost hopeful he would indeed choose to go.

"What?" Sam shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"How did you get so screwed up, Dude? Talking shit to your brother, trashing him?"

Sam laughed a laugh Dean had heard from his father, but never from his brother. "I don't think I'm the one who's messed up and talking crazy at the moment."

"Right." Dean shook his head. "I'm the problem. I'm selfish. I can't stand to be alone. I do more harm than good, demanding my way never mind the collateral damage and costs. Does that about cover it? Or do you have some more things you want to add to the list of what makes me a shitty person."

Sam sighed. "I think you should get some sleep, Dean."

"Sleep is going to make me forget my own brother thinks I'm pathetic? That he pretty much said he wouldn't break a sweat to save my ass?"

Sam's silence was deafening.

"That's really what you think of me? After all we've been through?" Dean clenched his fists, trying to reel in his emotions. He felt the absence of his hunter's band, knowing Castiel must have thought to take it, lest it give Dean away. The indention on his finger where he'd worn it faithfully for years reminded him this wasn't his brother, only it was. He prayed his Sam did not harbor any such sentiment, that he held their relationship as brothers in much higher regard.

"Like I told you before, I'm just being honest about how I feel." Sam gestured to the door. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"You really think all the things I've done for you over the years were done out of my own selfishness, some desperation not to be alone?" Dean would not be dismissed like some underling. If nothing else he was going to have his say. The other Dean might not have seen the point in it, but Dean was damn well going to make Sam listen.

"Look," Sam ran his hands through his hair in a manner that was so like Dean's brother he felt his anger wane. "I don't blame you completely. I know Dad made you think it was your job to take care of me, to keep our family together but..."

"How dare you heap this on Dad." Dean pointed a finger at him, his anger flaring once more. "I took care of you because you were my little brother. You might want to stop the 'poor Sammy' routine and remember the times I made sure you were fed and had decent clothes on your back. The times I went to bat with Dad for you, or how about when I went without so you could have what you needed, the times I shoved every selfish human instinct I had aside, to put you first."

"That's what I'm saying! You're priorities were screwed up from the beginning because Dad..."

"Screw Dad. I did what I did because I loved you, idiot. And yes, because we were family, but I didn't see it as some kind of burden. You make it sound like a four letter word Pastor Jim would wash our mouths out for saying."

"We just don't see it the same."

"Since when? What happened to the guy who searched everywhere to find a cure for me when I was dying with the bad ticker?" Dean wasn't sure these Winchesters had gone through that hunt, but he had to take Castiel's word for it when the angel told him their lives were parallel, the big events the same, minus The Brotherhood aspect. Sam's pained expression told him there had been a similar experience if not the same.

"I never said it was easy to let go of someone you loved, but it's not right to choose who gets to live and who dies, just because the person who's dying happens to share DNA with you."

"Someone died in my place because of that faith healer, Sam. I didn't choose to take his life. I only went there because of you, because you couldn't let me die. And the car crash with Dad, the lengths you were willing to go to when Tess the Reaper had me on her short list..."

"I didn't know that faith healer was taking a life for a life, or that Dad was going to trade his life for yours," Sam tried to interrupt.

"And I have never knowingly sacrificed someone to save you!"

"Except for yourself."

"Hell? You're talking about when I made the deal to bring you back?" Dean tilted his head, wondering if it had gone down similarly here.

"Yes. Hell."

"I'm glad you brought that up, Little Brother." Dean shook his head. "Because I would love to hear how spending forty years in the pit had anything to do with me not wanting to be alone. How I did it so I wouldn't have to be alone, and how I did it because I wouldn't be the one sacrificing or hurting. Trust me when I tell you I've never been more alone in my life and I suffered. I suffered and I'd do it all again if it meant saving you."

"You don't get it! That's not what I want."

"No, you just want me to stay dead or gone." He understood why the alternate Dean was drowning in shots. Dean wondered if he had done something wrong, but even if he had the fact that Sam hadn't disagreed made him see red. He felt sick for thinking this Sam was anything like his own brother. Sam might drive him absolutely insane, but Dean never doubted he had his back, would die for him in a heartbeat if need be. More than that, Sam respected him, appreciated him for the man he'd become. He said what the other Dean wouldn't, maybe what he couldn't. "I am so damn disappointed in you. You're a selfish, ungrateful jackass."

Dean brought his fist back and laid Sam out in one punch. "How about thanking Dean for once? How about apologizing to Dean?"

Sam rubbed his lip and frowned. "Dean?"

Dean reached down and wrapped his hands in Sam's shirt. "Man up and quit your whining and self-righteous holier than thou bitching before it's too late, Sammy, before you lose the one person in this world who gives a shit about you."

Dean watched Sam's face contort with confusion, then noticed the spark in his dark eyes, the quick intelligence that was such a part of his brother. "Where's the mark of Cain?"

Dean glanced down at his arm, his shirt sleeve had slid up. Sam was now staring. He let him go, not understanding what Sam was asking, but afraid Cas had missed an important detail of this universe's Dean and he'd unwittingly given something away.

It didn't matter. Dean was almost finished. He had one more thing to say before he left, one thing he knew the other Dean was thinking.

"Just so you know I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving, even if I should and even if every selfish, self-protective instinct inside me is yelling to get the hell out of here while the getting is good. Because I'm your fucking brother whether you like it or not, Sam. Nothing is ever going to change that."

He left Sam lying on the floor, speechless with a sore jaw and hopefully a lot to think on before his real brother got home. Dean wasn't surprised to find Castiel waiting for him outside the bunker. He nodded to the angel, but kept walking, wanting nothing more than to put some distance between himself and the bunker.

"Did you leave the other Dean alone?" He cleared his throat, hating the emotion he heard in his voice.

"It seems his Castiel is also good at sensing distress."

Dean took some comfort that his self in this time wasn't alone, even if there wasn't a Caleb to call. "Good."

Castiel kept Dean's clipped pace, not pointing out there was no way to walk to where they needed to go. "Did you accomplish what you hoped?"

"I don't know." Dean understood all too well how easy a relationship could be damaged, how long it took to restore it. He and Sam had gone through their own time of destruction with Stanford and then Ruby, but they'd come through it stronger, better, and with a new appreciation for each other. He wanted to believe that such a thing was possible for this universe, for this Sam and Dean who didn't have The Brotherhood and therefore needed each other even more. But both of them had to want it, and Dean wasn't sure if this universe's Sam was merely lashing out in anger and hurt or was truly finished with trying to piece things back together. "I think you accomplished your mission with flying colors, though."

Castiel stopped walking, forcing Dean to do the same. "Learning a valuable lesson is often painful."

"Tell me about it. "Dean rubbed his throbbing fist, glancing over his shoulder to the bunker once more. He returned his gaze to Castiel. "I want my ring back."

Castile stuck his hand in his pocket and brought out the silver band. Dean took it, relishing in the familiar tingle when he slid it back in place. He rubbed his thumb over the cool metal thinking on all it meant. The weight of it was comforting and reassuring. "Let's go home."

RCJ

The annoying soft pat to Dean's cheek quickly turned to a sharper stinging slap that warranted his attention, the panicked incessant voice demanded he fight his way out of the darkness. "Deuce, damn it. Wake up!"

"Ow." Dean batted at the hand assaulting him. He tried to force his eyes open. When he managed the task he was greeted with glaring lights and Caleb's concerned face hovering above him.

"You with me, Kiddo?"

"Yes," Dean grumbled, pushing himself up on his elbows, blinking in the overly bright florescence. He glanced around, noting the fact he was on the cold garage floor laid out in front of the pearlescent, prickly Prius.

"About damn time." Caleb offered Dean a hand to help him to sitting. "You scared the shit out of me, man."

"What happened?" Dean rubbed his head once he was upright, feeling a bump on the back. His mind was foggy, full of wispy memories he couldn't quite conjure because they kept slipping from his grasp.

"You tell me. I came back to apologize for being an ass only to find you unconscious. For a minute there I didn't think I was going to get the chance..."

It came back to Dean then, materializing like a brick wall in front of him. The argument he'd had with Caleb and Sam, Cas's unexpected visit, the little trip to the other dimension. "Shit."

Caleb startled when Dean bolted upright, looking around the garage in a wild manner. "Easy," he said, holding up a hand like he would to calm a frightened horse. "It's alright, Deuce. Calm down."

"Where's Cas?"

"Castiel?" Caleb shook his head. "No angels here."

"But you're here." Dean nodded, taking a deep breath to soothe his racing heart. "I'm really freaking glad you're here, Damien."

Caleb's mouth twitched. "Considering you told me to get the hell out of here and not look back a few hours ago, that's good to hear."

"No, really." When Dean grabbed Caleb's wrist like a lifeline The Knight's amused look disappeared under one of confusion. "I'm pretty sure my life would have been a lot shittier if you hadn't been here, if you hadn't watched out for me and Sammy all these years. I appreciate it more than I can say. Dad did me one hell of a favor when he picked you as his protégé."

"Deuce, are you drunk?" Caleb didn't shake off Dean's grip, but used his other hand to pick up the discarded beer bottle nearby, sniffing it suspiciously. "Are there a couple dozen or so of these empties lying around somewhere?"

"What?" Dean forced himself to get a grip and let go of Caleb. Castiel's little trip had rattled him more than he realized. He tried for a half grin. "A guy has to be drunk to tell his best friend how he feels about him?"

"Typically, in our universe, a guy has to be bleeding to death, succumbing to a terrible disease or going to hell to tell his best friend how he feels about him."Caleb quirked a brow. "Unless of course it involves a few expletives, some crude body language and a more than lewd suggestion for where one might stick his sword."

"About that..." Dean might have overreacted earlier. Caleb's quest for justice was justified to some degree, especially when Dean understood The Knight looked at any hunter's failure as his own, as a dark spot on what he considered Dean's reign.

"No, I deserved everything you said, Deuce. You're The Guardian, and as much as I find it hard to believe sometimes you're not a kid anymore that I have to rush in and rescue. You have the final say and I shouldn't be giving you shit. You have to know I respect your decisions, man."

Dean didn't have a chance to answer as his brother burst into the room, glass of water and first aid kit in hand. "Thank God he's awake."

"Sammy." Dean was sure his grin was stupid. "_My_ Sam. You're back."

His brother knelt on the other side of him, his gaze going to Caleb. "Did he hit his head?"

"Dude, I'm fine." Dean ducked away from Caleb's attempt to check him out.

"Are you sure?" Sam directed the question to Caleb. Dean sighed in exasperation, unable in his new found appreciation of the men before him to conjure much annoyance at the fact they were ignoring him, and psychically scanning him.

"I don't sense anything amiss," Caleb glanced to Dean. "Besides, pretty much confessing his undying affection for me, and attempting to hold my hand in some chick-flick moment, he seems okay."

"_He_ is right here. Why are you acting like I've lost it because I'm glad to see you both."

"Probably because two hours ago you called us Judas and Brutas and threw us out of here, told us not to come back-ever." Sam's frown deepened. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head?"

"I'm good." He kept his eyes on his brother, who was looking like he might launch into some scholarly rebuttal at any moment. "Are you okay?"

The question caught The Scholar off guard. Dean was never so glad to see his brother's sheepish smile, the dimpled one that was all John Winchester on a rare day. "Besides feeling like an ass of a brother, then yeah, I'm okay. We didn't know what to think when we came in and found you on the floor. Our rings didn't give us any hint you were in trouble." Sam offered Dean the water. "I'm really sorry about before. You were right. About everything."

"Ditto to what the Runt said."

"It wouldn't hurt you to come up with your own apology." Sam glared at Caleb.

"Why?" Caleb smirked. "You said it beautifully for the both of us, just the right mix of humble pie and sincerity. Right, Deuce?"

Dean snorted at the familiar banter, feeling a pang of remorse for the other Dean who had never been so lucky. "I'm just glad he knows how to apologize, not even a hint of condescending jerk."

"I have my moments." Sam rolled his eyes. "Besides, if there's one thing I've learned these past few years, it's how to ask for forgiveness."

Caleb slapped Sam on the back. "Pastor Jim's heartfelt sermons weren't wasted after all."

"At least not on one of us." Dean grinned at his best friend, then reached out and squeezed his brother's arm. "I'm proud of you, Little Brother."

"Okay, then." Sam glanced at Caleb again; worry once more coloring his dark eyes. Dean easily recognized the look they shared. He was freaking them out. "Maybe we should get him up off the floor."

Dean didn't resist as his Knight and Scholar each took an arm and pulled Dean to his feet. Sam kept a steadying hand on his arm as Caleb grabbed one of the rolling chairs, pushing it close to Dean, practically shoving him into it.

"Okay, Deuce. Spill." The Knight looked around the garage and zeroed in on Dean once more. "You said something about Castiel. Did he do this?"

"Castiel was here?" Sam asked.

Dean opened his mouth to explain, but then thought better of it. "It was the Prius."

"The Prius?" Sam frowned at his brother. Caleb's accusing glare went to the car, which Dean worried might be in jeopardy. He did not want to explain to the hot blond how her baby became a pile of scrap metal.

"I couldn't get the busted radiator cap off. When it finally came free I banged the shit out of my head." Dean reached up and gingerly fingered the goose egg on the back of his scalp. "Must have banged it harder than I thought."

"So you did hit your head." Sam pushed Dean's hand aside so he could check the wound himself as Caleb circled the car suspiciously. "He's got a lump the size of a golf ball."

"Good thing we Winchesters have hard heads." Dean knew that having thick skulls was both a blessing and curse. In the literal sense, physical injuries might be lessened, brushed off, but the emotional wounds, the blows that could cut a guy down, those were held onto with ferocious tenacity. The alternate Dean and Sam proved this family phenomenon rang true in parallel universes as well.

"You blacked out." Sam stuck with the literal, the logic which most of the time worked to his advantage. "You could have a concussion."

"What I have is a job to finish." Dean made to stand up. "The car isn't going to fix its self."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Caleb spoke up from beneath the hood, waving Sam and Dean over. He pointed to the engine. "I'm no expert, but having spent more than my fair share of time in John Winchesters 'Every man should know how to fix his damn car' sessions, that looks like a perfectly good distributor cap right where it should be."

"Son of a ..." Dean ran a finger over the new distributor cap, now perfectly in place. Castiel was full of surprises these days. "That damn trench coat is like a magician's hat."

"Okay that seals it. I'm bringing the car around." Caleb started for the door without giving Dean a chance to refuse The Knight's directive.

"I swear this thing was cracked." Dean chanced a look at Sam. He couldn't explain without coming clean about Castiel and their trip to see the other Winchesters. "It took me almost an hour to get it off and when I did it was ruined. You believe me, right?"

"Of course I do." Sam nodded. "You're my big brother. I trust you."

Dean felt his eyes sting at the sincerity in the vow, the solemn confidence in Sam's steadfast gaze. He would blame the non-existent concussion for the emotional moment if his brother called him on it.

Sam let Dean off the hook, instead giving the little Prius a look of disgust. "Over-priced foreign numbers are always a bitch. Give me the Impala any day."

Dean laughed out loud, reaching up to ruffle his brother's mop of too long hair. "That's my boy."

"Cut it out, Jerk." Sam ducked away.

"Make me, Bitch."

Sam shook his head. He stayed out of reaching distance, pointing a finger at Dean. "Stay here. I'm going to get your coat and keys and lock up."

Dean watched him go before shutting the hood on the little Prius with a satisfied thunk. He leaned his hands again the cool metal thinking of all Castiel had showed him. A renewed throbbing in his fist prompted a silent thanks, a shout out to the God who had led his father to Missouri Mosley and James Murphy all those years ago. The wise and kind preacher who, at least in this universe, had not only convinced John Winchester to accept his help to avenge his wife and protect his sons, but convinced him to align his small wounded family to an ultra secretive group of hunters sworn to protect the innocent from all forms of evil. In that moment, with a clear vision of what the alternative might have been, Dean Winchester was never more proud or grateful to be The Guardian of The Brotherhood.

The End


End file.
